


Such Selfish Prayers

by sequence_fairy



Series: Ceremonials [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Rose,” he began, “the wine,” he stepped back from her, “it’s laced with something. Probably in the oil they used on us earlier too,” he moved back again, “I’m sure it’ll wear off. Just needs time.” The way his voice broke on the last word made Rose step forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Selfish Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> For Jan, who wanted the Doctor and Rose, on something, and for Lindsay, who helps me curb my run-on sentences and makes me finish what I started.

They’d done the save the planet routine, figuring out how to disarm what Rose was calling an atomic bomb, because the Doctor’s explanation had consisted of a hell of a lot of technobabble she wasn’t going to even attempt to understand. They’d done it with seconds to spare, and the jubilant whoop he’d let out when the countdown stopped and the heart-stopping grin he’d given her before pulling her into a crushing hug left her feeling weak in the knees from relief and something else she wasn’t going to admit to.

The Emperor had graciously provided both her and the Doctor access to his private baths and an army of attendants to see to their every need. The Doctor had been about to protest, and Rose, yearning for a pampering day at the spa, had rolled right over his usual thanks but no thanks routine, and followed the dark-skinned man the Emperor called Alo to what she would now look back on fondly as the greatest afternoon of her life. She’d been primped and scrubbed and soaked and scraped and pummeled and finally left to soak in a pool of hot water scented with something like jasmine and then led to a small room where she’d lain on a plinth of warm stone and been oiled by a young woman with quick hands and a shy smile.

She’d been left eventually with a small-boned, lithe woman who wouldn’t speak or even look at her, but who had done wondrous things with her hair and helped her dress in the filmy gown that the local women favoured. Rose stood before her reflection, and marveled at the smoky-eyed, veiled woman in front of her. Her skin glowed from the oil they’d rubbed in earlier on. The dress was kin to the sari, draped and fastened in such a way that while she was completely covered, it left nothing to the imagination, and the colour was astounding. At the top, where the bodice hugged her breasts and nipped in her waist, it was midnight blue, the deep colour setting off the golden glow the oil had given her skin and the twinkling blue stones they’d placed around her neck and slipped into her hair. By the time the fabric hit the floor it was the colour of an icy dawn sky, and strewn with crystals that glittered and chimed as she moved. 

She’d been given slippers to wear, so soft it felt like she was walking on air, and the last thing had been the sheer veil that covered the lower half of her face and left her feeling like a princess from a shah’s court. When the attendant stepped back and Rose had turned to see herself in the mirror she’d felt like she was looking at a stranger. That beautiful, exotic looking woman could not be her. She’d wondered what the Doctor would say when he saw her. 

It turned out, he’d said absolutely nothing. She’d arrived at the feast on the arm of the attendant Alo, who’d walked her through the whirling dancers and the throngs of people to where the Doctor was seated, looking bored, beside the Emperor. When Rose had been presented, she’d bowed low as she’d been shown and when she straightened, she noticed the Doctor’s gobsmacked expression. Alo had walked her around the table to her seat, beside the Doctor and after pulling out her chair, he dipped his head and left. 

Rose had sat down and turned expectantly to the Doctor. He was wearing his usual brown pinstripes and dark oxford with patterned tie, but she noticed his skin had the same glow as hers, so he must have taken advantage of the pampering on offer. He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times doing a remarkable impression of a fish, and Rose raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and finally spoke. 

“You look lovely Rose,” he said, his voice strained, and then took a deep swallow from the goblet in his hand, “would you like some wine?” 

“Yes, thanks!” she chirped, and then looked out at the crowd. There were women dancing, long ribbons in each hand, fluttering and snapping to the rhythm of the music. The music was provided by an assortment of musicians playing unfamiliar instruments, but it was melodic and festive, and Rose felt buoyed further by the joyful celebration that they’d helped ensure would happen. 

Later, after a lot more wine, due in part to the lengthy and artful toasts made on their behalf, Rose was feeling flushed and a little silly. She’d unattached her veil, unsure that she could manage eating and drinking with it on and not wanting to take a chance on ruining the beautiful dress. The food was marvelous, flavorful and while completely different from what she was used to eating, Rose was not one to back down from a challenge and she tasted some of almost everything there was to try. 

The Doctor was quiet, offering a story or two of their exploits, but Rose, tongue loosened by the heady wine that never seemed to run out in her goblet, was drawn into conversation with her neighbours and found that even on a planet light years from home, some topics were universal. She was interrupted in the middle of regaling the woman sitting next to her, a princess of some sort, with the same dark skin as the others but an outrageous shade of purple hair, with a story about Mickey (edited to include only relevant bits, nothing Earthly) by the Doctor tapping gently on her wrist. She turned to look at him, and he nodded towards the Emperor who was looking at her expectantly. 

“Lady Rose,” he said, voice melodious, “would you do me the honor of a dance?” 

Rose sneaked a look at the Doctor, who shrugged. No help from him then, she thought and smiled, “I would love to, your Excellency.” The Emperor got to his feet, and Rose stood as well. When he took her hand, his palm was warm and his smile was friendly. He led her to the dance floor and space was created for them to dance. Rose had no idea what to expect, but he put a hand on the small of her back and when she placed one hand on his arm, he took the other in his hand and led her around in a circling pattern of steps. 

Rose picked up on the steps fairly quickly and soon they were spinning and whirling and when he pulled her in and spun her out, skirts flying around her ankles, Rose laughed aloud. The dance floor filled around them and they finished the dance. At the end of the tune, the dancers clapped politely and Rose bowed again to the Emperor who smiled again at her and dipped his head in return. The next man to take her hand was not nearly as good a dancer and Rose excused herself after one revolution of the dance floor to soothe her aching toes. 

The Doctor found her at the edge of the crowd, and she startled when she heard his voice in her ear asking her to dance. She’d turned to face him, trying to read his intentions, and the raised eyebrow and that slow, wicked grin he reserved only for her heated her already feverish blood. They’d spun around the dance floor, music lifting them and turning them and spinning them past the other couples. 

Eventually, Rose needed a break, and the Doctor acquiesced graciously, handing her a chilled goblet filled with the same heady wine from dinner. She gulped it down, and it did nothing but fan the flames in her gut. The Doctor was flushed, and when he caught her gaze he seemed to startle out of a haze.

“Rose,” he said, voice low, “we need to leave.”

The tone he’d used was the one that he reserved for real danger and Rose hastily followed him out of the hall and into one of the long corridors. The TARDIS had been left in one of the courtyards and they made their way there quickly and quietly. Rose still felt feverish and hot, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just a warmth pooling in her gut and spreading out to her limbs. 

Once they were inside, and the Doctor had them into the Vortex, he took her hand and Rose felt a spark jump between them. He looked up at her sharply and whatever he saw in her eyes made him pale and drop her hand. 

“Rose,” he began, “the wine,” he stepped back from her, “it’s laced with something. Probably in the oil they used on us earlier too,” he moved back again, “I’m sure it’ll wear off. Just needs time.” The way his voice broke on the last word made Rose step forward.

Rose could feel it, the pulsing warmth like a fist of molten gold in her stomach and when the Doctor backed himself up against the wall she pounced. The first touch of their lips was electric. She felt sparks singing along her veins and when he responded, mouth plundering hers, she felt her knees buckle. He growled as she stumbled into him and walked her back, mouth never leaving hers and hands bunched in the folds of her dress until she hit the edge of the console. 

He broke away from her, breathing hard and Rose whimpered at the loss of contact. She twined her arms around his neck, and pulled him down for another kiss. It started soft but soon grew heated as she slipped her tongue into his mouth and drew one hand down his back to cup his arse. He groaned and pressed into her. She could feel him hard through his trousers, and suddenly, she wanted his skin. 

She pulled away from the kiss, and pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and tugged his tie loose. He kept his hands busy, drawing one down her back, the low cut of the dress leaving her skin bare to his touch. Wherever his fingers trailed, they left fire in their wake and Rose shuddered as he dipped his mouth to her collarbone. She’d given up on the buttons on his oxford and tugged, sending the plastic annoyances scattering through the console room. 

“In a hurry?” The Doctor asked, breathless laughter in his voice. Rose nodded and gripped his shoulders, feeling his skin, soft and lightly freckled under her hands. She drew both hands down his arms, and then up his side, feeling him shiver as her nails dragged across his ribs. He rolled his hips against her and Rose gasped at friction that was not quite enough. She grabbed at his hips, and he tugged down the bodice of her dress, freeing her breasts. 

He cupped them both, fingers working to roll her nipples into hard peaks, “Rose,” he panted, “I need you to tell me to stop now if you want to stop.” 

“Do. Not. Stop.” Rose gritted out, teeth clenched around the moan he was dragging out of her as he dipped his head and used a clever tongue to send sparks of pleasure through her. She leaned back on the console, bracing herself with her hands, “if you stop Doctor, we are going to have words.” She tried to inject stern threat into her words but failed when the Doctor swirled a nipple with his tongue and worried it with his teeth, leaving her voice shivery with want. 

He pulled her up, pressed her to his chest. She could feel the double time double thump of his hearts against her chest and he kissed her soft and slow, tongue questing and teasing. Rose worked her hands between them, and plucked open the fly of his trousers, reaching in to grab hold of him, feeling the velvet soft weight of him in her hand. The Doctor broke their kiss as she pumped him once, twice and then again. He bit off a curse as she rubbed her thumb in the moisture gathering at the tip and when she added her other hand, cupping his balls he shuddered against her. 

“Rose,” he moaned, “wait, wait,” he said, pulling away, “I’m not,” she licked her lips, and then brought her hand to her mouth, licked a stripe across her palm and gripped him again. He groaned, his head tipping forward and his forehead coming to rest against hers. “Rassilon Rose,” he muttered, sounding wrecked, “I can’t — I’m not — Rose!” he exclaimed and she sped up her hands, and he keened, and plunged his hands into her hair, sending the jewels and clips cascading down onto the console as he kissed her. The kiss was sloppy and Rose felt the hitching in his breath before he dropped his mouth to her collarbone. She turned her hands, feeling the way his body moved against hers, and picked up the pace again. “Fuck,” the Doctor swore, gripping her hips, “Rose, Rose, I’m gonna...” and Rose grinned, and he came. She worked him through the entirety of his orgasm, stopping only when he hissed in a breath and tapped her hands. He was breathing hard and dropped his head to rest against her shoulder. 

Rose pulled her hands out of his trousers, and she had a moment’s respite, feeling the urgency in her blood building with every second passing, and relishing the delicious torture of the anticipation, before the Doctor raised his head to look at her. His pupils were blown wide, and Rose shivered at the way his breath ghosted across her skin. 

“Bedroom,” the Doctor said, then leaned in to kiss her, teeth and tongue and a frisson of something else in her mind. Rose nodded when he pulled away, and she tugged her dress back up over her breasts as he tugged her along behind him. 

They stumbled through the corridors, the TARDIS helpfully providing an alcove for the Doctor to back Rose into. He pressed her against the coral walls, the rough surface prickly on her bare back. She couldn’t get enough of his skin, hands always questing, reaching, touching, pulling. She needed more, her blood was pulsing with some internal inferno and when he hitched her up against the wall, lifting her legs around his waist, Rose leaned her head back and moaned. He bunched up her skirts, cursing the filmy material before he finally found her, wet and hot and so very ready. 

The sound the Doctor made as his fingers brushed against her folds, had Rose’s head spinning. She rolled her hips against his hand and heard his breath stutter. He slid one finger inside and Rose saw stars when he curled it just right and she shuddered through the quickest and easiest orgasm she’d ever had. 

If anything, the release only quickened the fire inside her, and when he let her slide down the wall, she tugged him towards the nearest door.  
Pushing it open, she pulled him through. It took her a minute to place them, the masculine touches giving it away as his room before he had her backed up against the bed and his clever fingers were unfastening the dress and leaving it in a pool of shimmery fabric at her feet. Rose toed off the shoes as the Doctor divested himself of his trousers and pants, and when he pushed her down onto the bad, she went willingly and very nearly bonelessly. He followed her down, mouth busy with hers and hands skimming down her body to grip her hips. 

She arched up off the bed when he entered her in one long, smooth slide, and they both gasped when he bottomed out. Rose bit back a curse when he pulled out and slammed back home, his breathing ragged above her. She dug in, gripping his shoulders and feeling the sweat beading on her brow as the warmth from earlier set fire to her blood.

“More,” she panted, and writhed beneath him, trying to pull him deeper inside her, and he grunted when she dug her heel into his calf. He set a punishing pace, and Rose met him thrust for thrust, both of them racing for the finish, and Rose spiralling up and away and hearing herself shout his name as her vision whited out. He followed her over the edge, his teeth in her shoulder as her nails dug into his waist. 

He rolled off her, and Rose felt the chill of the air on her sweat-slicked skin. She was gasping for air and still fevered, heart racing and her blood singing; her fingers and toes tingling. She turned her head and caught the Doctor’s eye. The grin she received was feral and clouded with something darker than lust, sweat darkening the hair at his temples. “Again?” He asked, voice hoarse and just this side of impressed, flicking his gaze down her body, taking in the flushed skin and Rose groaned when he swept a hand down her stomach, fingers slipping through the crease where thigh met torso. 

The Doctor rolled onto his side, then over and shimmied down her body, planting himself between her legs and Rose held her breath as he looked at her. His gaze was like a caress, and Rose felt like she’d simply combust if he continued. His eyes were bottomless pools, and Rose knew her own were dilated to match. He leaned down and pressed a trail of open mouth kisses down her stomach, leaving her quivering beneath him. 

“Gods, you taste good,” he murmured against her skin, “like summer sun,” he said in between nipping kisses down the silky skin of her inner thigh, “and the first cold of true winter,” he laid a trail of fire with his mouth up her flank, before capturing one breast in his mouth. He suckled hungrily, and Rose squirmed under him, his hands on her arms, pressing her down into the mattress. “I could spend days tasting every part of you, and still never get enough.” He swept back down, drawing his tongue in a long, broad swipe through her centre, and lifted his head to let her watch him lick his lips. 

Rose surged up off the bed, and pushed him back, toppling them onto the floor, landing in a tangle of limbs, her straddling him. She could feel him hard again beneath her and he arched up into the heat of her body, the head of his cock brushing her and Rose shuddered as he ground out her name. She sank down over him, impaling herself with a satisfied smile and she rode him slowly, drawing out the delicious torture, letting it build and heave within her. The Doctor babbled under her, pleading with her in seven different languages that the TARDIS did not bother to translate. 

“Come on Rose, please,” he begged finally in English, as Rose kept the pace tortuously slow. He gripped her hips, trying to force her into a faster rhythm but Rose held back, feeling the desperation in his every muscle. He growled and Rose smiled, feeling the hot swoop of desire with the knowledge that she could drive him to the brink of his civility. She drew it out as long as she could, leaning over him, blonde hair falling in a curtain around them, the blue stones in the necklace winking in the soft light. She locked eyes with him, and clenched her inner muscles, and the Doctor arched up, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them smoothly so she lay under him as he pumped into her. 

“Fuck me Doctor,” Rose gritted out, loving the way his breathing stuttered when she swore, “I love the feel of you inside me,” she continued, rolling her hips into everyone of his thrusts and the Doctor gritted his teeth and Rose felt the moment the tension snapped and he came with shout, burying his face in her neck and Rose let go of the leash she’d been holding on her own orgasm and knew she was leaving half-moon dents in his shoulders to match the set she’d given his waist earlier as she shattered. 

Later, after they’d picked themselves up off the floor and collapsed into bed, finally spent and no longer burning hot, the Doctor pulled Rose close and nuzzled her neck as he curled around her. Rose tugged the coverlet up over their bodies, and sank into the dreamless sleep of the completely sated.


End file.
